Meet Cute
by Lady-of-the-Refrigerator
Summary: Liz's peaceful spring break getaway is interrupted by a late-night fire alarm and the half-naked man from the room next door. [Based on a tumblr AU prompt]
1. Chapter 1

AN: Random AU prompts on tumblr are the bane of my increasing list of WIPs, I swear. Inspired by this one: _Someone needs to write a 'the fire alarm went off at 3 am and now the cute guy from the flat next door is standing next to me in his underwear' AU_

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><p>Liz sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding in her chest, roused by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Stumbling onto the semi-private patio before she was fully conscious, only one thought occupied her groggy mind—get out <em>now<em>.

The chilly air woke her instantly. It might have been unseasonably warm for March, but it wasn't nearly warm enough for what she wore to bed. She knew she should have packed something flannel when she chose to head north for this trip, one last hurrah before she graduated, a splurge she'd been saving up for for quite literally years.

The sound of her neighbor's door sliding open behind her startled her, and she spun around to see a man in nothing but his underwear burst out onto the patio, nearly jumping straight into the air when his bare feet came in contact with the stone.

"_Christ_, it's cold." He stopped in his tracks when he noticed her standing there. "Hello," he said, and offered her a crooked smile.

They seemed to register at the same moment just how little they were wearing, and looked each other up and down swiftly. She crossed her arms over her chest and wished, not for the first time, that her tiny sleep shorts covered more of her legs. He wasn't as obviously self-conscious, but he still casually clasped his hands in front of him to shield what his boxer-briefs did little to hide.

"So…" he said, "do you come here often?"

The absurd juxtaposition of his question and their predicament surprised a snort of laughter out of her and his face broke out into a grin that made her stomach twist in an odd, enjoyable sort of way. Her heart clenched. Finding the man attractive would be inconvenient enough if the two of them were fully clothed; now it just made an awkward situation even more awkward because she had nowhere to focus her attention without feeling like a creep.

She turned away and began to pace. She could feel the man's eyes on her, following her progress back and forth across the small patio. His attention wasn't uncomfortable. He didn't leer. She was grateful for that.

"God, it really is cold," she said, when the two of them were silent just a bit too long and having nothing but the sound of the alarm to distract her started to set her teeth on edge.

"If you keep thinking about it, it's only going to seem worse."

"How long do you think this'll take?"

"If it's just a false alarm, hopefully it'll be over soon. If not…" He shrugged. Liz frowned. "We won't get frost-bite, if that's what you're afraid of. It's not cold enough for hypothermia. It's just… unpleasant."

She stopped pacing and stared longingly into her room, trying to work out how quickly she could get to her suitcase and back. "We could run in and grab something warm to wear, or at least a blanket. What harm could it do?"

They eyed each other, waiting for someone to make the first move; neither one of them dared take a step towards their respective sliding door. The peal of a siren cut through the droning fire alarm and they both backed away from the building reflexively.

"Better safe than sorry," he said. He sniffed the air, squinting up at the hotel anxiously, and clenched his jaw. He took up pacing where she left off.

Liz sighed, watching surreptitiously as he made his way up and down the patio. Might as well look at this as an opportunity to practice her profiling skills. Getting a read on a mostly-naked stranger would be an interesting challenge, one she wouldn't have a chance to attempt very often.

He kept his hair short in the front, in that weird haircut favored by men who weren't ready to admit their hairlines were receding. The hair he had was clean but sleep-mussed, shot through with the occasional strand of white. He wasn't in great shape, but it wasn't terrible either—like age and overindulgence had caught up to him and he'd developed a bit of a paunch. Lean, strong arms. Muscular thighs and an admittedly great ass. Faded tattoos, mostly traditional designs. Ex-military maybe? Another quick glance as he passed her revealed a back covered with extensive scarring.

Well. That probably explained his nerves.

"What happened to your back?"

"That's a long and sordid story better suited to a bottle of wine shared after dinner than a patio shared with a stranger at a hotel." He lowered himself onto one of the wooden deck chairs and crossed his legs gracefully, as if he was wearing the finest three-piece suit instead of what he was really wearing—almost nothing. "Although the latter could easily lead to the former, if you're so inclined…" He trailed off, waiting for her to supply her name.

She knew she shouldn't. Hell, the man was a total stranger and considerably older than her, to boot, yet here he was, taking advantage of the situation to hit on her. Still, it was only her name and she wouldn't have to see him again after tonight. If he became a problem, she could put in a request to have her room changed.

"Elizabeth," she said. "Liz." She perched herself gingerly on the edge of the other chair, shooting for as little contact with the cold wood as possible.

"So, what brings you to this charming corner of the world, Liz?"

"Spring break."

He tilted his head to the side slightly, studying her face. "Most people lean toward somewhere a bit more… tropical… for spring break."

"I like the cold. In general, at least." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to keep her blood flowing.

"Are you a skier?"

"No. The mountains are… peaceful. The last thing I want from a vacation is a cheap hotel filled with rowdy, drunken college students just trying to get in each other's pants."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you a college student yourself?"

"I'm not rowdy or drunk," she said, defensively, "and I'm certainly not trying to get in anyone's pants."

Just as she finished speaking, the alarm shut off; the sudden silence was as deafening as the noise had been. After a long, tense moment of unbroken eye contact, the man uttered in a low voice, "That's a shame."

Liz's stomach fluttered at the gravel in his tone and she swallowed hard; he looked away first. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she trusted herself to speak.

"I don't even know your name. Why would I—"

"Raymond," he said, still studiously avoiding her eyes. "But most people call me Red."

"Well, Red," she said, "Raymond." She stood and brushed herself off. "Maybe next time you proposition someone young enough to be your d—"

"I didn't proposition you," he said quickly. He stood smoothly, walked in step with her towards the hotel. "I implied that if you propositioned me, I wouldn't object."

"You asked me to share a bottle of wine with you after dinner."

"OK, I'll give you that one. But isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?"

"What do you mean?"

He stepped closer then and she had to stop herself from leaning towards the warmth radiating from his body in spite of herself.

"I know it hasn't escaped your notice that I'm more exposed here than you are," he said. "I haven't chastised you for your wandering eyes, have I?" Her gaze snapped back up to meet his; unconsciously, she'd been watching his lips as he spoke.

"Sleep well." He pulled back without making any physical contact whatsoever and stepped into his room.

The sound of the door sliding shut startled Liz; she shook herself, both figuratively and literally, and returned to her own room, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the door after she turned the lock.

She wondered how unwise it would be to take a cold shower.


	2. Chapter 2

Liz headed down to breakfast earlier than usual the next morning, her sleep nothing but fitful after she returned to her room. She wished she could blame it on the fear of another fire alarm waking her, but the truth was she'd been driven to distraction over the intriguing, confusing encounter with the stranger from next door.

It wasn't like her to lose sleep over a guy. She had her fair share of obsessive tendencies, sure, but they usually revolved around her schoolwork or other interests, certainly not men. But perhaps the guys she knew just didn't have what it took to spark her curiosity quite like her mysterious, mostly-naked neighbor. She couldn't put her finger on what it was exactly she found so interesting about him, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was his smile, his discerning, intelligent gaze holding hers, the hair on his stomach disappearing under the waistband of his…

She rolled her eyes at herself. This was getting pathetic, pure and simple. Well, come to think of it, perhaps _pure_ wasn't the right word for it… Stifling a yawn, she resolved to put him out of her mind and joined the line for breakfast behind a bickering elderly couple.

Her resolve was to be short-lived, however, when a soft, "Good morning, Lizzy," came from behind her.

Liz jumped, startled, and turned quickly towards the source of the greeting.

_Speak of the devil_, she thought. Very few people called her Lizzy, fewer still got away with it more than once. Who else would take such a liberty but the man who had taken up residence in her mind uninvited? She debated whether or not to call him Ray in retaliation for the presumption, but ultimately decided against it for the time being.

"Red, right? Sorry, I almost didn't recognize you," she said, "with your—"

"With my clothes on." The old woman in front of them gasped, scandalized, as the host arrived to lead her and her husband into the restaurant. The husband ushered her along behind him when she tried to linger; Red smirked after them.

While Red was occupied, she looked him up and down out of the corner of her eye. The clothes in question were quite a sight to behold all their own. Even from a distance, the quality of the fabric was obvious—wool tailored to damn near perfection, a tie made of the finest silk she had ever seen, a fedora straight out of the old movies her dad used to show her when she was young—expensive, but in an understated way. She was apparently right about the three-piece suit, to boot. _And he fills it out just as well as he fills out his boxer-briefs_, she thought, and willed herself not to blush.

Red took a step forward to stand beside her, tapping his hat against his leg as he waited for the host to come back. "I don't think I've seen you at breakfast before."

"I usually catch the tail end," she said, "but I couldn't sleep, so…"

He nodded in sympathy. "It's always difficult to keep anxiety at bay after being woken like that."

"Mmm," she agreed, making an attempt at a smile, and hoped the guilty direction of her thoughts didn't show on her face. She squinted into the restaurant. Just how long did it take to seat a nosy old couple, anyway?

"You know, Lizzy," he said, leaning a bit closer to her as he spoke; she clenched her jaw, tried not to let the low rumble affect her. "I visit places like this when it becomes necessary to escape the hustle and bustle of my everyday life to spend some quality time alone, but after last night I find myself longing for the pleasure of good company. Namely yours. Join me for breakfast," he said, "please."

The hopeful look on his face stayed her immediate refusal. "Are you always such a shameless flirt or should I feel special?"

"Yes," he said, simply.

She furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to comment on his cryptic cheekiness but the host chose that moment to return.

"How many will be dining this morning, ma'am?" he asked, his hand hovering over the menus.

"Oh, um." She glanced back at Red quickly. "Two, please."

"Excellent. If you'll follow me?"

* * *

><p>The host led the two of them to a table tucked into a cozy corner of the restaurant, with a view overlooking the sunny mountainside.<p>

"Oh my god," she said, taking in the gorgeous scenery.

"See, that's the sort of thing you miss when you sleep 'til almost lunchtime. The only sight that can possibly beat the sheer grandeur of the sunrise over the mountains here is the sunset over the lake."

Red pulled out her chair for her, but he didn't make a show of it, which was what she preferred; it was just a simple courtesy. Anything else always made her uncomfortable.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't really come across as the type of person this place usually caters to."

"I could say the same about you."

"Touché."

Leaning back in his chair, he regarded her silently. "People make a lot of assumptions about my tastes," he said after a long moment. "Some of that is intentionally cultivated. Some of it is… not. And speaking of tastes…"

Liz followed Red's line of sight to see their fresh-faced waiter approaching the table.

"Good morning, folks. Have you decided what you'd like for breakfast today or do you need a little more time?"

"I'll have whatever she's having," Red said, gesturing across the table to Liz. A frisson of panic ran through her.

"What? Why?"

"I trust your judgment."

"OK…" Liz glanced anxiously between the two men. "Well, the corned beef hash is great, farm fresh eggs and everything else is made from scratch. There's always eggs Benedict, they make a stellar hollandaise. And there's nothing quite like a perfect soft boiled egg and toast. I tried the breakfast burrito the other day and I was pleasantly surprised. Of course, you can't really go wrong with an omelette."

His eyebrows rose. "You're a big egg fan, I take it."

She shrugged. "Growing up I only got a chance to have them on vacation and now it's part of the whole hotel breakfast experience. If I stay long enough, I try everything they've got."

Their waiter stood poised to take their orders, unsure how to react to Liz basically listing off the entire egg section of the menu. "Folks?"

"Oh, um… I guess we'll both go with the eggs Benedict?"

The young man nodded, relieved, and quickly left.

"How come you don't cook eggs for yourself?" Red asked.

"Somehow my father got it into his head as a kid that eggs were universally disgusting and he boycotted them forever, so I never really learned how to cook them myself because of that. When I was little, I used to make him read _Green Eggs and Ham_ to me all the time, hoping he'd get the hint and just _try_ them, but no. He wouldn't even give them a chance."

Liz knew she was babbling, but she couldn't help it. _Green Eggs and Ham_, really? She was acutely aware that she'd begun talking with her hands even though she usually didn't; she had half a mind to sit on them before Red noticed she picked the habit up from him. If he did, he didn't say anything.

"At least you absorbed the moral of the story better than he did. It's important to try new things whenever we can." He dropped his voice in a way that was wholly inappropriate for a topic spawned by discussing a children's book. "There's a whole host of experiences we'll miss if we insist on staying in our comfort zones all the time. It's in our nature, that drive to seek out adventure, to expand our horizons; we're doing ourselves a disservice if we squander it. If we do, we stagnate."

Liz pushed up her sleeves and took a long draw from her ice water, fighting off the urge to fan herself.

"I think he just thought I liked it because of Sam-I-Am," she explained in a rush, cheeks burning. "His name is Sam."

All of a sudden, as if a switch had been flipped, Red's entire demeanor shifted. His brow furrowed and he seemed uncomfortable, almost nervous, watching her play with the condensation on her glass. "By any chance," he asked haltingly, "is your father Sam Milhoan?"

She blinked, bemused. "Yeah, how did you—?"

"I know him. Knew him." He shook his head and shrugged. "He's an old friend. We haven't had time to catch up in years."

"Huh. It really is a small world, isn't it?"

He frowned and nodded. "Minuscule," he said, still unable to meet her eyes, choosing instead to nearly bore a hole in the table with the intensity of his gaze, somewhere near where her right hand rested.

Thankfully, the food arrived to break the awkward tension. It was excellent, as she'd come to expect, and he thanked her for her recommendation, grateful for a chance to move on from the odd revelation that he knew her father of all people. It only served to emphasize how many years there were between them, even though he couldn't possibly be as old as Sam. If Red didn't mind, however, neither did she.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Liz would relate more to someone older; she always got on better with her professors than her classmates, after all. She was too intense, too driven, too serious for most people her age and always had been. She didn't make friends easily; she lucked out with her roommate, but Jess was the exception rather than the rule. By the end of the meal, Liz and Red relaxed into an easy camaraderie the likes of which she rarely experienced; by the time he walked her back to her room and bid her goodbye with a tip of his hat, she had already begun to try to come up with an excuse to run into him again.

Deciding she would be able to think more clearly after a much-needed nap, she curled up in a cocoon of quilts and blankets, falling asleep with Red in the forefront of her mind.

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><p>She dreamt of him. Of course she did—fleeting impressions of Red in his suit from breakfast, standing over her bed, drawing his hand up her bare leg, asking her what she wanted, teasing his fingers under the edge of her sleep shorts, almost light enough to make her squirm with ticklish sensations. But a dream could only last so long and, like most of the dreams she had of that nature, she woke up with a start—alone, empty, aching—before she could find any kind of satisfaction.<p>

What did she want?

She wanted _him_.

He'd wormed his way into her imagination, into her subconscious, and she wasn't ready for him to leave.

Liz sighed. This sort of thing just wasn't her purview. She was the type of person to make a goal and work her ass off until she achieved it, not the type who spent hours daydreaming about things that could never happen.

But who said it couldn't happen? Other than the odd little blip during breakfast, he certainly seemed interested. In fact, he made it rather explicitly clear the night before.

She deserved to cut loose for once. A fling with one of her father's friends seemed just the thing. A little illicit thrill went through her at the thought. It was the stuff of fantasies, really. Something other girls did. She never had the opportunity or the inclination before now. Besides, he seemed like a man who would know what he was doing. Maybe she'd finally understand what all the fuss was about.

Course of action decided, she picked up her phone and dialed room service.

* * *

><p>Liz's stomach clenched as she peered into Red's hotel room from the patio. He sat in an overstuffed armchair, so engrossed in the book in his hands that he didn't notice the movement outside his door. He'd changed out of his suit in favor of a pair of dark jeans and a cozy-looking sweater. The man certainly wore clothes well.<p>

He also wore no clothes well.

Good Lord, she had a problem.

She took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock. He looked up from his book at the sound of knuckles on glass; she held up a bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses, gesturing to ask him to open the door. Marking his place, he stood and unlocked it, sliding it open.

"Lizzy," he said, his voice a warm rumble. "We have to stop meeting like this."

An unconscious smile tugged at her lips. How that nickname could go from being overly familiar to endearing in the course of a day baffled Liz, but it warmed her just the same.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I decided to splurge a little tonight,"—she pointed awkwardly to the wine with the hand holding the glasses—"and I, uh… I could use some help finishing it."

"_Starting_ it, you mean," he said, amusement coloring his tone; he reached out and tapped the intact cork.

She mentally cursed herself for not thinking of opening the wine ahead of time, smiled a small, self-deprecating smile, and tried a different approach.

"Truth be told, I find myself longing for the pleasure of good company," she said, using his own words from earlier. "Besides… you look like a man who could use a glass of wine."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk."

She didn't know how to respond to that, but thankfully he saved her the trouble by stepping out onto the patio and sliding his door shut behind him. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Once they were inside the warmth of her room, he reached out for the bottle again; he meant to tilt it enough to read the label, but his fingers brushed hers, the contact all the more obvious because hers were so cold compared to his. He set the wine aside and took her hands between both of his, rubbing them to stimulate the circulation.

"Your hands are like ice," he said. He raised them to his mouth, using his breath to warm them.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly parched, and asked, "Do you, um, d'you think you could open the wine?"

He smiled and did as she asked, pouring two servings into the glasses and holding one out to her.

"I wanted to thank you. For joining me for breakfast this morning," he said.

"It's no problem. I had a good time."

"You certainly didn't have to put up with a lonely stranger on your vacation."

"Actually," she said, pausing to take a sip from her glass. "I didn't realize how lonely I've been lately until last night. So really,"—she took a step closer to him—"we did each other a favor, didn't we?"

"I suppose we did."

Another step forward and she reached out a cautious hand to run along his chest to his shoulder. "This is a nice sweater." She looked up at him and asked, "Cashmere?"

"Mmm," he confirmed, taking a sip of wine without looking away.

She was well within his personal space now and he did nothing to change that. Little by little, she edged even closer, sliding her hand up his shoulder to his neck. Close enough to feel his warm breath on her face, she paused, waited for him to back away. He didn't. Pulling gently at the back of his neck, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his in a tentative kiss.

It seemed like an eternity passed before he responded, his lips barely moving against hers, but then he was there, kissing her back, and she found herself moaning softly, the fluttering in her stomach multiplying.

Short, hesitant kisses slowly progressed to longer, more assured ones. Without pulling away, he placed his glass on the sideboard and hers as well, before taking her face in his hands, tilting his head, and parting his lips against hers, inviting her to deepen the kiss. She whimpered into his mouth, tightening her hand around a fistful of his shirt collar as she pulled him closer.

The urgent press of lips and tongue; searching hands tracing curves, caressing whatever they could reach; quiet moans and hushed, ragged breaths—all of it was much more intoxicating than the wine could ever be.

Steadily, she backed him up towards the bed; he sat reflexively when his thighs hit the edge of it. She worked her fingers under his sweater while she continued to kiss him and tried to pull it up and off his torso.

He tore his mouth away from hers and stilled her hands. "Lizzy, wait," he said, breathless. "There's something you should know."


	3. Chapter 3

Silence stretched between them as Red stared up at Liz from his seat on the edge of the bed. Every second that ticked by only served to increase her anxiety. He trailed his hands up and down her arms, stalling for some reason she couldn't fathom. What could he possibly have to tell her that was so important it couldn't wait, but would paradoxically be so hard for him to say?

She braced herself for the worst. He was married, three kids, the whole nine yards. Or he was gay. Or just stringing her along, thinking she wouldn't have the guts to go through with it and now he was going to laugh at her. (Or let her down easily. He seemed the type.) He certainly wasn't impotent, that much she was sure of. It had to be something else and, judging by his reticence, it was something serious.

"Geez, Red, what's going on? You're starting to freak me out."

His jaw worked strangely, his eyes bright, shiny, troubled; she had the oddest sensation that he was about to cry.

"Before we go any further," he said, thickly, "I have to tell you about my scars…"

His… scars? What? Was he really going to follow through with that?

"Really, forget I even mentioned them. I'm not going to make you—" He cut her off by laying a gentle finger across her lips for brief a moment before pulling away again.

"If you want me to stay with you tonight, you need to know. To level the playing field, so to speak."

"I don't understand."

"If you'd let me explain, you would."

"But your scars are none of my business, you really don't have to—"

"Yes," he said. "I do. And believe it or not, they _are_ your business."

"All right. OK. You've successfully piqued my curiosity. How could your scars possibly be my business?"

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased; he slid himself further back onto the bed to sit cross-legged against her pillows and patted the blanket in front of him. She climbed up and mirrored his position, so they faced each other in the middle of the bed. His socks looked woolly and warm, and she wondered distractedly what they would feel like under her fingers.

That was an odd thought. She had never wanted to give a man a foot massage before.

"You have to promise me something, Lizzy." A quick touch of his fingers to her knee brought her attention back to his face. "Whatever I tell you tonight, it can't be the reason you let me stay with you. If you let me stay, it has to be in spite of what I say, not because of it."

"OK…" She sounded dubious, even to her own ears.

"Please. Promise me if you let it influence you at all, it'll be to tell me to walk out that door and never come back." The grave expression on his face brought her up short.

"I promise," she said.

He held out his hand, intending to seal the promise with a handshake. She let out an incredulous huff of air, but took the proffered hand all the same and, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach at the contact, gave it a firm shake.

Once the agreement was reached, his grip shifted seamlessly from that of a stiff and formal handshake to the kind of intimate, fortifying grasp that came with simply holding someone's hand. He studied her hand in his, running his thumb over the back of it. The butterflies became harder to ignore.

"Do you remember anything at all about your life before Sam adopted you?"

"How did you know I was adopted?"

"I told you. I know Sam."

"Right." She frowned, feeling horribly slow on the uptake. "What does this have to do with—"

"Do you remember the fire?"

Liz's stomach dropped and she forgot to breathe, her grip on his hand tightening reflexively. The fire that left her an orphan plagued her dreams as a child, as much for her lack of concrete memories as for the horror of it. Her subconscious mind had a habit of conjuring up new and disturbing variations of that night; it didn't matter how hard she racked her brain, struggling to recall actual details—it was too long ago, too traumatic, and she couldn't manage anything clearer than the terrified eyes of a young man, the overly large jacket she'd been wrapped up in, and the horrible, putrid smell of burning flesh.

Burning flesh.

His scars. Burn scars.

She studied Red's eyes, eyes which even now were wide and wild with something like fear, and tried to compare them to that old mental image she had to see if they matched. "Were you… Did _you_ save me?"

He held her gaze, his unblinking deer-in-the-headlights stare starting to unnerve her. "Yes," he whispered, breathless, as if the admission, or maybe just the anticipation of it, caused him physical pain.

The room fell into fraught silence in the aftermath of his confession, silence filled only with the electronic hum from the incandescent lamp on the nightstand, the ticking of the clock on the mantel over the gas fireplace in the corner, the pounding of blood in her own ears. The only thing anchoring her in that moment, the only thing anchoring him, was the ever-present back-and-forth stroking of his thumb across the back of her hand.

"'Small world' doesn't even begin to cover this, does it?" she said, when she trusted her voice enough to speak.

"No. No, it doesn't."

"Why? Why were you… why was I… what happened?"

"I was in the right place at the right time. Or maybe the wrong place at the right time."

She opened her mouth, but he held up his free hand, forestalling her.

"I can't tell you everything, I'm sorry to say. There are some things I'm not even sure of, and others that even knowing about would only put you and Sam in grave danger. Suffice to say I was there that night, performing my duty to the best of my ability, but things didn't go according to plan."

"Your duty."

He hesitated a moment before he explained, "Something like naval intelligence."

A ripple of satisfaction washed over her. She had been right about his tattoos after all, those faded military tattoos even older than his scars. They hadn't been touched up or added to in years, but he hadn't had them removed or covered up. Perhaps they served as some kind of reminder, if he paid any attention to them at all.

"You're not still involved with that, are you?"

"No." There was baggage in that no, loads of it. Liz wished she knew his story, wished she could have the chance to know it.

"I didn't plan to throw all of this at you this way, Lizzy. Forgive me," he said. "You don't know me, you shouldn't have to—"

She leaned up on her knees, cutting him off with a sudden kiss.

"It's OK," she said, after his eyelids fluttered open again. "Maybe… Maybe I'm meant to know you. I mean, I don't usually believe in that kind of stuff but, really, what odds are we talking about here?"

His cheek twitched, the corner of his mouth just barely curving into a shadow of a smile. She settled back down, cradling his hand now in both of hers. She focused all of her attention on his neat, clean nails, the occasional tiny freckle or odd bit of scar tissue lighter than the rest of his skin, trying to organize her thoughts, to work up the courage to ask him what she wanted to ask.

"What happened after the fire? Did I ever see you again? Did I know you and I just… can't remember?"

"No. We've had no contact since that night." He gave her hand a quick squeeze and said, "I did send you a Christmas present that first year, but after that… life got in the way."

"You were the one who sent the bunny?"

"Sam told me you carried around the scorched stuffed rabbit you rescued from the fire like a security blanket, said you wouldn't go anywhere without it for weeks. I figured you both could use something to bond over."

"You figured right." She glanced up at him to find him studying their joined hands; she took a steadying breath and cleared her throat, drawing his eyes back to her face.

"Would you mind if… Can I see them again?"

After a long, charged moment of silence, he pulled his hand from hers and shucked off the sweater before she could react to the loss of contact. He undid the buttons on his sport shirt while holding her surprised gaze, shifting to the edge of the bed before shrugging it off his shoulders to expose his back.

She knelt up behind him, traced the mottled, thickened tissue, smoothed her hands along the breadth of his shoulders, down the length of his spine. She bent to press her lips to the base of his neck, just above the beginning of the scars; a shiver ran through him when she started to kiss her way down between his shoulder blades.

"I should go," he said, turning to face her again and pulling the shirt back over his shoulders.

"Please don't." She smiled sheepishly, reluctantly letting her grip on the fabric of his shirt loosen. She smoothed out the wrinkles she'd made, meeting his eyes with the most earnest expression she could muster. "Stay. I want you to stay. I wanted you to stay before, this hasn't changed that."

Slowly, he leaned back against her pillows, stretching his legs out on the bed. She settled into the pillows next to him, slid her arm around his waist inside his unbuttoned shirt. His hand found hers on his stomach and he entwined their fingers in a sliding caress.

"Would you ever have told me? Sam hasn't. Obviously. Do you think you would have sought me out eventually?"

"I've thought about it. Every now and then, I've wondered what it would be like, coming to see you, explaining who I was and what I'd done. Getting to know who you'd become. I always talk myself out of it. It would have been selfish of me to do that to you, unless it was strictly necessary. Just seeking validation that I've done at least one thing right."

"You make it seem like you're a terrible person."

"Like I said, Lizzy—You don't know me. It's even selfish of me to be here now, to accept this comfort from you. I don't deserve it."

Liz shook her head and he turned to search her eyes. "You let me be the judge of that, OK?"

She ran her fingers through his hair, combing them across his scalp the way Sam used to do to comfort her, to calm her when nothing else would. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and he sighed into her, clinging to her tightly until his grip loosened in sleep.

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><p>AN: The idea of a bunny for a Christmas present is blatantly borrowed from The Pretender. Also, there'll be a rating increase next chapter, so adjust your filters accordingly.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: One last chance to adjust your filters for the upcoming rating increase. :P

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><p>The next morning, the sun rose over the mountains, greeting the early bird diners in the rustic restaurant dining room. Liz, however, wasn't there to see it that day; she stretched languorously between luxurious sheets as she stirred slowly, the warmth at her back making her want nothing more than to snuggle deeper under the covers and drift off again.<p>

Well.

It made her want _almost_ nothing more.

She dreamt of Red again. Wrapped up as she was in the smell of him, in the feel of him, it would have surprised her if she hadn't. The dreams were now furnished with a realism based on the experience of what it truly felt like to kiss him, to be held by him. She longed to add to those experiences. She longed for more than just dreams.

That lazy morning found her filled with an aching want the likes of which she'd never experienced.

Fierce. Profound. _Unsatisfied_. Everything else paled in comparison.

Liz had always been able to put attraction in its place in the past, but perhaps that was because she'd never felt it so strongly before. It was disconcerting, really. What if she was disappointed? What if he wasn't interested anymore?

As much as Red might fear her desire to please him would now be borne out of thinking herself indebted to him, she feared he would no longer even entertain the possibility of an assignation between them at all.

If anything, his insistence that she know the truth about their shared past before they crossed any real lines gave her some reassurance that he wasn't trying to take advantage of her. It gave her a better insight into his character; despite whatever misdeeds he alluded to, he was still in some important ways an honorable man.

An honorable man she happened to want to climb like a tree.

Now if only she could convince him that's what she wanted. She sighed. Maybe if he woke up pressed against her, he'd take the hint. And hopefully the initiative.

Feigning a stretch, she slid herself back so she wriggled against him and his hands, which up until then had been loosely draped across her hips, tightened slightly; an instinctive, reflexive rocking of hips pushed his swelling hardness against her ass. She bit her lip and wriggled again, drawing an unconscious moan from him that shot straight to her groin.

Her breath stuttered in her chest and she swallowed. God, how she wanted him.

She was trying to decide how long she should let him sleep before she rolled over to try to encourage him to put that morning erection to good use when her cellphone chirped its tinny little chime. All at once, she pulled out of his grasp and sat bolt upright in bed, peering around the room with bleary morning eyes in search of the source of the noise.

There weren't many people who knew her cell phone number; she just wasn't in the habit of giving it out. Her roommate knew it, but she wouldn't call at this time of day in a million years. Given that it was spring break, she probably wasn't even conscious yet. That really only left one likely person. Perfect.

Spying her jeans in a crumpled pile near the foot of the bed, she padded over and fished around in the pockets for the phone, prodding the talk button as quickly as she could before the ringing woke Red.

"Daddy?"

"Hey, butterball. How's your vacation going?"

"It's been good. Relaxing. Just what I needed."

"Could you speak up a little, Lizzy? I can barely hear you."

"Yeah, um… Now's really not a good time."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Uh…" Liz winced, brows furrowing. It was times like these she wished she was a morning person. She scrambled to come up with a reasonable excuse that wouldn't intimate she had a man sleeping in her bed, but her mind was a blank. Unfortunately for her, Sam _was_ a morning person and a bit too quick to catch on for her liking.

"Oh, good Lord, I'm sorry, honey. Pretend I didn't say anything. You're a grown woman, it's none of my business what you—"

"_Dad_. I'm not…" Behind her, Red reached out and wrapped his arms around her discarded pillow before settling again. She closed her eyes and sighed. "You know I didn't come up here looking for anything like that."

"Oh. All right. Good." A beat, and then, "As long as you don't close yourself off to the possibility completely."

Liz let out a nervous giggle. "Geez, dad, make up your mind. You're gonna give me whiplash."

"Sorry! You just never know when you might meet someone who'll change your life, is all."

Red's quiet snoring picked up in volume a bit; Liz's eyes widened in horror and she made a beeline for the bathroom, praying the reception would hold out.

"Actually, it's funny you should say that," she said, pulling the door shut silently behind her. "I ran into a friend of yours the other day."

"Really? A friend of mine?"

"Mmhmm. He said his name was Red something or other."

It took Sam a beat too long to respond. "Red Reddington?"

"That sounds right."

"Wow," Sam said, with enthusiasm he obviously didn't feel. He sounded more than a little ill at ease. She could picture him scratching at his scruffy jaw, struggling to come up with something to say. "Reddington, huh?"

"Yeah. We ended up trapped out on the patio together when the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night and we got to talking. How come you never told me about him? He's quite the conversationalist."

"That he is, butterball, that he is. Although I can't imagine how on earth I came up in conversation."

"Oh, you know how it goes. You gotta fill the time somehow. You start out talking about the weather and then one thing leads to another and, well… the rest is history. I think we'll have a lot to talk about when I get home after graduation."

"That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?"

Liz snorted. "Why, do you think you should be?"

"Well, I—"

A sudden, muffled, _'Lizzy?'_ from the other side of the door made her jump and cut Sam off with a quick excuse.

"Dad, I'm really sorry, but I've gotta go or I'll miss breakfast. Have a good day!"

Liz hung up her phone with a snap and poked her head into the hotel room. Red was still lying down, the bedsheets and blankets tangled around his denim-clad legs. How he managed to sleep well in his jeans she had no idea.

He noticed her in the doorway and smiled, blinking up at her slowly as if she was the morning sun itself; she couldn't help but return his smile. He reminded her of a drowsy cat stretching in the sunshine.

"Hey. Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Mmm. Yes, it is." He sighed, heavy, contented, happy to watch her while she rounded the bed to climb back in and settle next to him again. "God, you're beautiful," he said, simple, emphatic, like he didn't have an ulterior motive for saying it—it was just an observation, a statement of fact. Her chest tightened.

"You're not so bad yourself." He watched, intrigued, as she brought her hand up to run her fingers through his hair. "Bed head and all."

He huffed a laugh, ruffling his own hair self-consciously. Tension coiled in her stomach, lower, the longer he held her gaze.

When she couldn't stand it anymore, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His response was hesitant at first, but he quickly melted into her, putting them fast on track to match the intensity they reached the previous night, before Red's crisis of conscience. Some of the anxiety that weighed on her since she woke up began to lift. He still wanted her. That much she was sure of. No one kissed like he kissed if they didn't want someone.

Much to her dismay, his stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear. Reluctantly, she pulled back. The skin of his hands—rough in places, smooth in others—felt electric against her cheek, her jaw, her neck, and she was loath to put distance between them again.

"We should really get moving if we're going to make breakfast."

He hummed his agreement as he followed his hands with his lips, kissing his way down her throat.

"How hungry are you?" she asked, distractedly.

"Famished," he said, barely taking his mouth off her long enough to form the word. He sucked at the base of her neck, raising what felt like it would be a significant hickey.

"Are we still talking about food?" A noncommittal noise was her only answer. Taking that as a good sign, she began to run her hands down his body in turn, tracing her fingers over smooth skin, shiny scar tissue, hair that grew coarser the lower she went. She got as far as his waistband before he shied his hips away from her questing hands.

Taking deep, harsh breaths through his nose, he rested his forehead against her shoulder. "Uh. I'm thinking with the wrong head."

"That's fine with me."

"Lizzy…"

"Tell me something. Would we even be having this conversation if we had a less complicated history? Or would you have taken me to bed last night? Because I wanted you to before all that came out and I still do." She cupped his face, coaxed his head up so she could search his eyes. "Come on, Red. You've been honest with me so far—almost to a fault. Tell me the truth."

"I would have taken you to bed," he admitted, after a long, tense moment.

"Do you still want to?"

"God help us, yes, of course I do."

"Then I don't see what the problem is." He opened his mouth to argue his point, but she cut him off. "Look, I'm going to lay it all out in black and white: This has nothing to do with you saving my life. I'm attracted to you. I've been attracted to you since the other night on the patio. And I'm pretty sure you're attracted to me. If you're game, I'd really like to explore that. After all, what is spring break for if not experimenting?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Sam will have kittens if he ever finds out," Red said, emphatic. Liz broke out in a grin and he offered her a tentative, lopsided one in return, which she took as a green light to reach for his jeans again. He watched her struggle to work open the buttons on his fly, sucked in a breath through his teeth as she grazed him through his jeans, the tightness of the material over his groin making her task a tricky one. "Or he'll kill me. Just flat out kill me. With his bare hands."

The threat of imminent death did little to dissuade him. When the teasing torture of her attempts became too much for him to bear, he took over unbuttoning his jeans and pushed them down his legs himself, leaving him like he had been the night on the patio—wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. They were, like all his clothing, _very_ nice. Not the kind that came in a pack of seven at Walmart for twenty bucks, that's for sure.

Liz made herself tear her gaze away to meet his eyes. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Sam never told me the truth about where I came from, he can deal with me having a secret or two of my own. The irony is that both of our secrets will be you." She leaned forward so she could whisper in his ear. "Besides," she said, "you could take him in a fight."

A surprised bark of laughter escaped him. "I could, but I wouldn't."

She hooked a leg over his hip, and he steadied her with hands braced against her thighs, her ass. Her breath caught at the intensity of heat against heat through the thin layers of their clothing. She rocked against him experimentally, the spark of pleasure sending her heart rate speeding in an upward spiral. She rocked again.

"I dreamt of you touching me like this," she said absently, growing more breathless with every roll of her hips; Red met her movements with a low moan in the back of his throat.

"Did you?" His voice was rough, deeper than before.

"Last night. Yesterday afternoon. The night before last. My imagination doesn't do it justice," she said, and then he captured her lips in a sudden, searing kiss, his hands kneading her ass as they continued to grind against each other.

There was something thrilling about doing this with him even with clothes between them. It wasn't enough, but it _could_ be. She pulled him tightly to her, her fingers fitting into the grooves engraved in his skin by the fire so long ago.

So far, she had been extremely frank about what she wanted from him, with exceptional results. None of what she said had been terribly personal, however, nor had it highlighted her previous experiences or lack thereof. While she certainly wasn't a virgin, the last thing she needed was to scare him off because he thought she was. That noble streak of his was a bitch. Still, she wanted him to know somehow that this, being here with him, was different. She broke the kiss and bit her lip, weighing how important it was to share with him what she wanted to say.

He leaned back, eyes darting around her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. Not at all." When she rested her hand against his cheek he turned, pressed his lips to her palm. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. "I don't think I've ever wanted someone as much as I've wanted you. I didn't know I _could_."

His hands slid up to her waist and froze, a faint frown on his face. "Please tell me I'm right to assume you've done this before?"

Liz nodded. "It's been a while," she explained, "but yeah." The last guy she'd been with had turned out to be a douche bag of the highest order. Once he got what he wanted from her, he wouldn't give her the time of day anymore. If she had been in a less vulnerable place emotionally at the time, she never would have fallen for his superficial charm in the first place. She shook herself before she wandered too far down _that_ mental path. In the end, he hadn't even been worth the sex. "It's just no one else has ever made me feel this… good."

Red bit back a growl and said, "Well, you're in for a treat, then. We've barely gotten started."

Soon they were kissing again, deep and fierce. He rolled them so she lay on her back, her smaller frame surrounded, enveloped by his larger one. She tried to hold him to her, to prolong the delicious contact, but he shifted his way down the bed, dropping tiny teasing kisses and nuzzling her through her clothing as he went.

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her boy shorts and began to slide them down her legs at an agonizing, glacial pace. Pulling them free, he smoothed his hands up her calves, gently coaxing her legs apart. His pupils widened at the sight that met him, the stormy sea green of his iris almost too thin to see even in the early afternoon light, but instead of feeling exposed or uncomfortable under his heated gaze, she felt invigorated. A pleasant shiver ran through her.

"God, Lizzy," he said; she could feel his breath on her as he spoke, warm and cool and tantalizing all at once. "You really are wet for me."

"I _told_ you—" He cut off her reassertion with a sudden, delicate swipe of his tongue, startling a yelp out of her as she bucked her hips in surprise. It was an indescribable amalgamation of sensations, some of them just this side of unpleasant, but there was enough of the promise of something _really good_ to make her curious for him to continue.

He looked up at her from between her legs, eyes hungry with anticipation, waiting for her next move.

"Do that again," she breathed. He bent his head, eager, and ran his tongue over her again. She gasped and clutched his head instinctively. "Slower. More pressure—_ahh_." He pressed first one finger inside her, then two, and she clenched herself around them, craving fullness, friction. She twined her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, rolling her hips in time with his strokes.

His resonant, murmured moans spurred her on, driving her to even greater heights of arousal. He _enjoyed_ this. More than enjoyed it. She really should hang onto him so she'd never have to try to convince another guy that turnabout was fair play.

Then he fastened his lips around her and sucked. She nearly screamed, tipping right over the edge into ecstasy.

After, Liz lay boneless, panting, as she slowly came back to herself, eyes wide with shock at the intensity of her climax. "Oh my god."

Red stretched out next to her, propping himself up on an elbow as he casually licked his fingers clean. "Good?"

She slapped his shoulder weakly. "Good? You're joking. Oh my _god_, of course it was good. This is already the best sex I've ever had."

He shook his head in dismay. "College boys should be ashamed of themselves. They spend so much time masturbating to internet porn, by the time they get a chance to be with a real woman, they have no idea what to do with her."

"It's not all their fault. I actually want _you_. Not just the intimacy, or the release. Although, you do believe in foreplay, so that's a plus." He huffed a laugh, smiling broad enough his face crinkled around his eyes.

"I'm flattered," he said. Her stomach fluttered.

"Come here." She reached out a still-shaky hand and once he was close enough, she wrapped it around the back of his neck and pulled herself towards him to close the distance between them again. They were both smiling when she kissed him. It was silly and awkward and she could taste herself on his lips, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

Trailing her free hand down his chest and abdomen, she palmed him through his boxer-briefs, earning herself a heartfelt groan.

"These"—she snapped his waistband—"need to go."

He tilted his hips back so she had room to peel the underwear down his legs, careful to clear his erection, and he kicked them off the rest of the way.

Finally able to observe him in all his glory, Liz swallowed hard and took him into her hand, curious fingers stroking his length, coaxing liquid to bead at the tip. He hummed his pleasure, barely able to keep himself from thrusting into her hand.

"Do you have anything…?" he asked, his voice strained.

Reluctantly, she let him slip from her grasp. "Top drawer, right nightstand."

Red settled back on his haunches, shaking the jumbo box of condoms to draw her attention away from his groin. He raised an eyebrow and said, "When you plan a seduction, you certainly come prepared."

"Not really. My roommate must've shoved the box in my suitcase as a joke, I didn't find it until I was cleaning up the room last night. Otherwise I would've had to brave the gift shop."

"If you timed it right, you could've given that nosy old woman from breakfast a heart attack."

He pulled out one of the foil packets, tossed the box in the drawer, and slid it shut before turning to rest with his back against the pillows, much to Liz's surprise.

"I'd like to see you, if that's all right." A beat, and then, "Sometimes it's better for someone who's less experienced, because you have control over the pace, the angle, the depth…" He must have mistook her expression for discomfit because he immediately backpedaled. "If you'd rather not—"

"No, I… All right."

She knelt up to straddle his thighs and, throwing caution to the wind, pulled her shirt over her head in one quick movement. His eyes dropped to take in her breasts and she let out the breath she'd been holding when she saw his own breathing falter.

He ran his hands up her sides, caressing, exploring, taking extra care with her nipples; she pressed herself into his hands, reveling in the sensation of the rough-and-smooth of his skin against her sensitive flesh. After a few intoxicating moments, he lay the flat of one hand over her heart, no doubt feeling how fiercely it pounded. She mirrored him, placing her hand over his heart as well. Purposefully, he began to regulate his breathing, taking slow, full breaths that slowed his heartbeat in turn. She found herself matching him, the fog of lust lifting just a bit.

"Tell me you're sure," he said.

"Don't you think we're sort of past the point of no return here?"

"No, Lizzy. Never that." The earnest expression on his face made her heart ache.

"I've never been more sure."

An array of emotions flickered across his features. With a solemn smile, he leaned up and captured her lips, pulling away only when their need, their desire became too great, to tear open the little packet and roll the condom onto his erection. He steadied her as she lowered herself onto him finally, twin noises of relief on their lips, half-sigh, half-moan.

There in that hotel room, wrapped around his cock, she felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in a very long time. He'd saved her before, once upon a time; it seemed only fitting that he did so again.


End file.
